Detention
by sydiy5bea
Summary: It's no secret that Nate's a stubborn know-it-all and loyal to a fault. These traits are sometimes more detrimental than helpful, however. Little Nate has much to learn.


I sit at the table, face scrunched up in a frown. Sully places a few sheets of notebook paper and a pen in front of me. "You are going to write 'I will follow directions" ten times," he says.

"No, I won't," I shake my head.

"If you want to leave this table, you will."

"This is so dumb. What's it gonna teach me?"

"Discipline. You will do what I say, when I say, with no back talk."

"But-"

"Ah, ah, ah," Sully interrupts. "That's enough out of you. Now, you'll do twenty."

"What? That's not-"

"Want me to make it thirty?" I almost say something, but I stop at the last second and shake my head no. "Good, you're learning. Get to work."

I sigh and pick up the pen. I haphazardly scribble "I will follow directions" twenty times. I slide the paper over to Sully who sits across from me. He looks it over as I sit quietly, then hands it back to me and simply says, "Again."

"Why?"

"This is sloppy. I want you to write it properly in your handwriting."

"That is my handwriting."

"No, I've seen your handwriting. It looks like calligraphy."

"Why do you care what it looks like?"

"When it's neat, I know you are taking the time to think about what you're writing." I groan and roll my eyes. "Now, you'll write it fourty times for rolling your eyes at me."

"What if I refuse?"

"You're not allowed to leave the table until you write those sentences."

"Fine. I'll just sit here then."

"Be my guest."

I cross my arms and stare defiantly at Sully as he smokes his cigar. He doesn't make eye contact. We sit practically motionless for thirty minutes, then Sully gets up and makes himself dinner. My stomach grumbles when I smell the pizza in the microwave. I consider writing the sentences so I can have a slice, but I quickly push the notion out of my mind. I'm not going to give up that easily. Growing up in an orphanage makes you resilient and stubborn. The world will run you over if you don't fight for what you want.

Another hour later, I have the urge to pee. Maybe I shouldn't have had that large orange soda on the plane. "Do I get bathroom breaks?" I ask, calling over my shoulder into the living room.

"What part of 'sit there and write' don't you understand?" Sully responds while shooting me an annoyed look.

"But I've really gotta go."

"Then write the sentences and go."

"But that'll take forever! I can't wait that long."

"Well, you'd better hush up and get to it, then."

After ten more minutes, I finally give in. In my best handwriting, I write the forty sentences. "I'm done. Can I go now?"

"Wait for me to check your work," he says getting off the couch.

 _Hurry up, old man!_ I cross and uncross my legs trying to hold it in for a few more minutes. When I realize it's frugal, I jump up from my chair and sprint down the hallway. "Too late!"

Once I relieve myself, I walk back to the kitchen. I smile at Sully, but he gives me a stern look and points to my seat. "Sit."

I sigh as I drop into the chair. "I thought my handwriting was really good this time."

"It is good. It's so good, you couldn't have typed it any better, but you're gonna redo it eighty times because-"

"Sully-"

"Because you got up from the table before I said you could."

"Did you want me to piss myself?" I ask.

"No, but-"

"Then how was I supposed to-"

"I wasn't finished," he yells over me. I clamp my jaws shut and look down. "The point of this, I reiterate, is to learn to follow directions. I told you not to move until I said so, yet you did anyway. You are going to do and redo this until you do it right. Until I deem you ready to go off on your own, you take orders from me. Yes, you're smart, but you don't know everything. Have I made myself clear?" I nod meekly. "Good. I'm going to bed. Can I trust you to do your work without me breathing down your neck?"

"Whatever," I mutter under my breath.

"What was that?"

"Yes," I say so he can hear me.

"Alright, see you in the morning."

I pick the pen for the third time and begin writing. The task is monotonous and I get a hand cramp around the fourtieth sentence. I keep pushing, though. I'm not used to being told what to do and, frankly, I don't like it. My stubbornness may have saved me in the past, but it's also gotten me into some sticky situations.

The thought to run away crosses my mind a few times during the night, but I don't act on it. My plan since meeting Sully has been to learn/take what I can and run when the time was right. So far, however, I'm enjoying my time with Sully. He's a good guy (even if he smokes the worst smelling cigars in history). I kept delaying the plan and eventually I put it on indefinite hiatus. For the first time in my life, I've found a place where I feel like I'm... home. I don't want to leave.

* * *

I wake to the sun shining in my eye. I must have forgotten to close my blinds before bed. My dog tags clang against each other as I drag myself to a seated position. The events of last night come back to me as I rub the sleep out of my eyes. _Maybe I was too hard on him. I mean, he was only trying to help. He couldn't have possibly known the client had a tiger in the basement._ I stretch my arms above my head, sighing at the satisfying popping of my joints. _Then again, everything would have would have worked out if he'd have followed directions. And I still don't understand why he thought blowing a hole in the side of the house was helpful._

My heart skips a beat when I discover that Nate's not in him his room. I don't let myself jump to conclusions just yet. I check the dining room and relief floods my chest. The boy must have fallen asleep at the table writing those sentences. "Nate," I say softly, gently jostling his shoulder.

"I'm up, I'm up," he yawns.

"Let's see how you did." I pick up the sheet of notebook paper that was under his cheek. He didn't finish, but everything looks neat.

"Sully..." Nate whispers in ill concealed terror. "Sully, I'm so sorry. I guess I-"

"I don't see what the problem is," I say, flipping through his work.

"But... but I didn't finish." He doesn't meet my gaze. Maybe he's afraid I'm gonna hurt him.

"Yes, you finished." He looks at me in confusion. "I'm pretty sure I asked for 59 and a half sentences, right?" I give a knowing smile, trying to convey that I mean him no harm.

"Yeah, of course." He smiles back in relief. Maybe he thought I was going to kick him to the curb.

"Now, that that's done," I rip the paper in two and toss it into the trash, "let's have breakfast."

"Can I have pizza?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Awesome."


End file.
